


Show me

by Castiel_For_King



Series: A Study in Sex [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Frottage, Gentle John, John is so gentle, John teaching Sherlock, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sexual exploration, Sherlock is very sensitive to physical touch, Tender Sex, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_For_King/pseuds/Castiel_For_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asks John to go a bit farther.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show me

John was wrist deep in a box of junk he'd uncovered in the back of his closet when the sound of Sherlock cursing angrily reached his ears. Barely though, due to the fact that a few old jackets were hanging around either side of his head.

He left the closet – which reminded him that he still needed to tell his family about his and Sherlock's relationship – and moved to the top of the stairs.

Sherlock was making a racket in the kitchen, but that was hardly anything new. What  _was_ a little out of the ordinary was the curse words flying from his mouth. Sherlock rarely swore, the smarmy git was always loath to rely on words of a mere four letters to express himself, especially when he had a massive vocabulary of bigger words that might impress people.

“You alright?” he called down.

Another smash and a clipped, “ _Yes_ .”

More grumbling. Stomping feet.

Either an experiment gone wrong or a text from his brother were the only things John could imagine would get the detective so worked up. Still, he turned back to the task at hand, quite sure that Sherlock was over-reacting anyway.  It was a primary aspect of his personality, after all.

John was in the process of selecting essentials to move into Sherlock's – now  _their_ – room, but everything he'd found so far was just going to stay there. Or go into a dumpster the next time he thought of it. When had he accumulated so much junk, anyway? Most of his clothes were already mixed in with Sherlock's, stuffed into the dresser or wedged into the wardrobe beside the posh arse's Hugo Boss and whatever other designer stuff he had in there; wool jumpers along side pressed silk. Ridiculous.

John smiled. Ridiculous and  _wonderful_ .

Absently, he picked up a picture of him and Harry from years and years ago - he'd set it on the dresser when he'd first moved in and hadn't touched it since – and swiped his thumb through the dust gathering on the glass. He should call her, he hadn't in months.

Sherlock came stomping up the stairs and John sighed, putting the picture down and turning to face whatever arm-waving drama was about to take place.

“What  _are_ you doing up here?” Sherlock snarked, his brows knit together unhappily, mouth a thin line as his ice blue eyes snapped this way and that around the room.

“Just making sure there wasn't anything else to move to our room,” John answered with a grin. He let his own gaze travel over Sherlock just as thoroughly as Sherlock's travelled the room.

He was wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist and his black hair was hanging in stretched curls, still heavy with dampness from his shower. His skin was nearly as white as the towel but his cheeks and chest were still flushed with the delicate pink of lingering annoyance with whatever had happened downstairs. Though, at John's words, the scrunch between his eyebrows smoothed and a slender hand reached up to absently tug at his curls.

“Oh,” Sherlock said softly, his eyes roaming over the room again, but it was obvious he was seeing something different this time.

“What was all the shouting about, then?” John asked, trying not to be to obvious in his leering.

But Sherlock was looking at the floor with a little Mona Lisa smile and the flush in his cheeks had darkened a bit.

“Experiment...went bad. The carrots started growing mold so it's ruined now,” he punctuated his irritation with a small toss of his head to flick the hair out of his eyes.

“You going to start it over?” John asked cautiously. He'd never say it out loud for fear of the wrath that would descend upon him but the carrot experiment had taken up a good portion of the fridge and he wasn't keen to see it repeated.

“ _No_ ,” Sherlock suddenly moaned dramatically, walking over and flopping down across John's old bed. “It wasn't that important anyway, I only did it to get the  _questions_ out of my head but I don't  _care_ any more.” He threw one arm over his eyes.

“Shall I make some tea then?” John let his eyes wander appreciatively down Sherlock's torso but frowned at how defined each of his ribs were under his pale skin. He was stretched out on the bed and that always had the effect of making him look even thinner...but still. His stomach was flat and when he inhaled, the space under his ribs hollowed dramatically.

“When was the last time you ate?” he demanded.

“When was the last time you made me?” Sherlock volleyed.

“ _Sherlock_ .”

“I don't know, like one or...three-ish days ago, I can't remember.”

John sighed. “We're going to Angelo's, put some clothes on.”

“I thought you preferred me  _without_ clothes,” Sherlock drawled.

The words stopped John in his tracks and he felt his eyebrows climb. Sherlock had never said anything so suggestive before and if the way he was blinking up at the ceiling with a frown was any indication, then he was just as surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth as John was.

“Well I do,” he admitted, not like it was a secret or anything. “But if you get any thinner your stamina may suffer for it.”

Sherlock managed to look scandalized and scoffed a sound of disbelief. “My stamina is  _fine_ , thank you.”

John knew it was, the bastard was getting better than him at staving off an orgasm. Like so many things in their life, sex, at times, became a bit of a friendly competition. Though Sherlock had a lot of catching up to do before he reached John's level of experience. Though the detective was, admittedly, becoming frighteningly good at giving blow jobs.

“Go get dressed,” John ordered, grabbing a long, pale arm. His fingers easily circled Sherlock's wrist and he hauled the man off the bed, gave him a push towards the door. “Go on, we'll go as soon as you change.”

He grabbed a box of old photos off the dresser and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs crossed.  But he didn't even manage to pick up the first picture when Sherlock was suddenly climbing into his lap, pushing the box out of the way and swinging a long, lean leg over John's thighs, settling with his knees either side of John's hips and making the towel ride high up his thighs. On the side where it was held in place, the towel split all the way up to Sherlock's hip, leaving a sliver of tantalizing, cream colored skin visible.

John's hands naturally settled on Sherlock's thighs and he tried not to drool when he opened his mouth to speak, his cock already swelling under the weight of Sherlock's arse nestled squarely in his lap.

“Manipulative bastard,” he complained fondly.

“Manipulation implies resistance on your part.”

Well, John couldn't  _resist_ letting the fingers of his right hand slip through the gap in the towel, feeling warm, soft skin and delighting in the little hitch of breath it earned him. Sherlock had gained a substantial amount of confidence since their relationship had started a month or so ago but he was still – and would always be – sensitive to touch. It was likely that he would always need to be eased in to intimate moments, and John was perfectly fine with that.

Most of who Sherlock was as a person was rigid edges and sharp words and mental maelstroms. He was a whirlwind, a force of nature, something chaotic and frightening at times. But this, this side of him that only John got to see, was soft and quiet and shy and sweet and everything that no one thought Sherlock could be. John would never tire of seeing it. Of seeing Sherlock looking up at him with wide eyes filled with question –  _Am I doing this right, John? Does that feel good, John?_ – and absolute trust.

He reached up with his left hand and gently pushed a curl of dark hair behind Sherlock's ear, the thumb of his other hand stroking his thigh.

“You're beautiful, you know that?”

It had the desired effect and he watched the color bloom across Sherlock's face, nudged his fingers further under the towel, curving his hand around lean muscle, and Sherlock's ribs popped against his skin as his breathing deepened and his eyes dropped to watch John's hand disappearing beneath the fluffy white towel.  Always watching, always looking a little confused as to how John's hands could make him feel so much at once. It was a little sad, really, how Sherlock still seemed surprised that a touch could feel good. Though John was eager to help him unlearn that.

He dragged his other hand down over Sherlock's chest, letting his finger tips catch on a peaked nipple and grinning at the choked gasp, then dropped it to Sherlock's other thigh, slipping his fingers under that side of the towel as well.

Sherlock's breathing was already rapid and shallow, but it hitched, stuttering in his chest when John squeezed his right thigh and then pushed up the inside of his left with the back of his hand and gently but deliberately cupped him under the towel.

Sherlock jerked in his lap, a breathy whimper wobbling from his throat.

“Can we take this off, love?” John asked, wedging his fingers between Sherlock skin and the towel.

Sherlock nodded and the fluffy white linen slipped easily off his hips and John tossed it aside, leaving Sherlock naked in his lap, the warmth of him seeping slowly through his jeans. There was something delightful about having Sherlock completely naked while he was still clothed. Something he had yet to identify but that had a bone deep shiver travelling through him all the same. It was a power play thing, he figured. It had to be. But Sherlock didn't seem to mind and John dragged the back of his knuckles up the underside of the man's hard cock while the other settled high on his leg, his thumb resting over the spot where his hip met his thigh.

Sherlock's long fingers settled over his, squeezing when John teasingly brushed his cock again.

They hadn't gone beyond hands and mouths yet, though John had slowly but steadily been letting his more intimate touches linger, pushing the boundaries and backing off just before he thought it might become too much. His patience had been rewarded and Sherlock no longer jumped out of his skin if John touched him without warning. It was still an ongoing process, but for the most part, John could lay a hand on the man's shoulder or rub his back or slip and arm around his waist without Sherlock tensing up. He knew that it wasn't that Sherlock didn't trust him but just that he'd gone his entire life without touches like that – of course it was going to take some getting used to. John's chest started aching whenever he thought about it too much.

Affectionate touches like that had been easier to get him used to. When it came to sex, Sherlock wasn't as skittish as he had been but it was obvious he was still out of his depth, still unsure, and that made him jumpy sometimes. It made John's heart ache for the same reasons and he was constantly reassuring Sherlock they didn't need to go any farther until he was ready, even if he was  _never_ ready.

But John could see the want behind Sherlock's cautious gaze. He wanted to go further, he wanted to touch and be touched...but this was unknown territory and pleasure wasn't something you could understand from reading a book. You learned by  _doing_ and he was pretty sure that's what made Sherlock so nervous. He wanted to know, he wanted to learn, but had to let John show him. Had to trust someone else to lead him through the dark. And trust was not something Sherlock could easily give, no matter how much he might want to.

So John gently guided him and enjoyed every second of it. He got a rush out of being the one who knew everything for a change. Seeing Sherlock look to  _him_ for answers was...wonderful in a lot of different ways.

Less than two weeks ago they'd spent the morning in bed and he'd brushed his hand over the well of Sherlock's backside, just to see what his reaction would be, and Sherlock had asked him to do it again. After a minor incident, John had Sherlock gasping and mewling, had spread him open and made him come against the sheets with barely a touch over his hole.

Since then, whenever the opportunity presented itself, he'd kept his touches light, just a brush of his finger tip across the furled muscle or simply holding the pad of his finger against it while Sherlock rolled his hips and slid their cocks together.

But now, he let his free hand brush down Sherlock's cock slowly and pushed farther, between his thighs, and slipped his middle finger between his cheeks to drag firmly over Sherlock's hole, watching him closely to gauge his reaction.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he jerked in John's lap, half out of surprise at the stronger than normal touch and half at the sudden shock of pleasure. Arousal was already crowding out the blue in his eyes like spilled ink.

John rubbed over his hole again then simply held his finger there, flat against the tight muscle, and Sherlock's hand squeezed his where it was still settled gently on his thigh, looking down to where John's hand was between his legs, panting.

“Alright?” John whispered.

Sherlock blinked back up at him, his eyes wide and pupils big. He gave a halting nod and licked his plush lips.

“Can...can we try...” Sherlock trailed off with a whine when John dragged the pad of his finger over his hole again.

“Try what, darling?” John had to coax, the corners of his lips twitching. He loved that he could make Sherlock stutter with barely a touch.

“Can you -” Sherlock choked on the words when John leaned forward and flicked his tongue over his nipple. “Can you –  _John!_ \- can...i-insi –  _ah_ – inside, just to s-see... _christ_ , will you let me get out a sent _ahhhnce...?_ ” 

Heat flooded John's stomach as he nibbled at Sherlock's collar bone, knowing just what it was the man was asking him to do. He'd been leading him there for a while now but had been unwilling to try or suggest going further until Sherlock asked for it himself. It was a step towards something more intimate than anything Sherlock would have done with someone before. Of course, everything they'd done so far fell under that category. But having someone inside you, that was not something John would ever push on anyone and he knew that when Sherlock was ready he would ask. Sharp stabs of heat curled around his guts like a snake, squirming and writhing, and his hips twitched up of their own volition.

“If you want,” John whispered against the side of his neck – he could feel Sherlock's pulse thudding against his lips, hard and fast. “If you're sure, then I'd love to show you how good that can feel.”

Sherlock's arms circled his shoulders, pulling him close and John let one hand push up his back but kept the other between his legs.

“Yes, I'm sure,” Sherlock rumbled into his hair. He shifted his hips minutely, just enough to move against John's finger where it was still pressed against him. “Show me.”

Those two words always managed to make the fire burning low in John belly surge.  _Show me. Teach me, John._ Those words coming from the man who seemed to know how to do everything was like throwing kerosene on a flame.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from between Sherlock's milky white thighs and reached to grab the lube he'd always kept in his bedside table. He coated his index and middle fingers and then circled his clean hand around the back of Sherlock's thigh, pulling.

“Lift yourself up a bit, love, good, and spread your knees a little more.” John pushed his own thighs apart, forcing Sherlock's legs open a bit more, grinning when it made Sherlock release a deep, trembling breath.

When he reached between Sherlock's legs again, the widened space between them had pulled his cheeks apart, allowing John much better access to him, and he wasted no time dragging his slick fingers over the virgin hole. Sherlock drew a sharp breath and his hand slapped back down on the one John still kept on his thigh to help ground him.

John watched him closely, increasing the pressure as he rubbed over Sherlock's entrance and then, slowly, he curled his middle finger, pressed the tip against the muscle, and pushed gently and firmly, feeling Sherlock's body give way to him.

Sherlock was panting above him, eyes closed, likely in an effort to block outside input. Extra information, even just the sight of John touching him, was something that needed to be filtered out at the moment. He was getting better at that, stemming the flow of sensations and information, picking only a few things to focus on instead of trying to process everything at once.

John pushed a bit more, trying to keep his own desire under control, and he took a deep breath at the same time Sherlock exhaled when his finger slipped into the tight heat and he held it there, just inside, gripped in the ring of muscle.

Sherlock's hand was clamped tightly on his shoulder, long fingers digging into the muscle and eyes screwed shut.

“Alright?” John asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Sherlock was hot and  _tight_ inside and John's cock was starting to demand attention, trapped painfully in his jeans as it was.

Sherlock answered with a shaky nod, the deep frown and etched lines around his eyes easing as soon as John spoke.

So he endeavoured to keep speaking, pulled the tip of his finger out and then pushed back in, still just barely inside.

“You need to breathe, Sherlock,” he instructed quietly. “Relax for me, love, and this will feel much better.”

With every word he spoke, Sherlock started taking deeper breaths and his grip loosened on John's shoulder.

“Good, keep breathing ok? Bit deeper now,” and he pushed firmly upward, heat pooling in his stomach and curling around his balls as Sherlock's breathing shallowed immediately, puffing out of his chest with every centimetre John sunk into him.

Releasing a controlled breath through his nose, his hand now flush with Sherlock's skin and finger as deep as it would go, John held still while Sherlock's body twitched and squeezed around him, confused by the intrusion.  Sherlock's eyes were still firmly closed and he was trembling, breathing hard. Sweat had gathered around his hairline like a fine mist he he shifted his hips, pushing a small cry up at the ceiling when it moved John's finger inside him.

“Shhh,” John soothed, rubbing at the slender thigh under his hand, “You're doing so well. It feels different, doesn't it?”

Sherlock nodded, words seemingly stuck in his throat.

“It's alright. If it becomes too much, tell me.” He pulled his finger out to the tip and pushed back up inside in one smooth motion.

Sherlock whimpered shakily, rising up on his knees a little as if to move away from the push of John's hand.

“Ok, easy, Sherlock...” John turned his hand over on Sherlock's thigh, let Sherlock wrap his fingers around it. “Do you want me to stop?”

Ebony curls, starting to dry now at the ends, skittered around the edges of Sherlock's face when he shook his head.

He knew Sherlock was still deeply aroused – his cock was still straining up against his flat stomach and precum was leaking out the tip. There was a flush pushing down his lean chest and the muscles in his thighs were trembling, breathing laboured, eyes still shut tight. But just because blood was flowing did not mean Sherlock wanted him to continue and it certainly didn't mean he wasn't close to a mental overload.  At this point, he could tell just from looking that Sherlock was becoming overwhelmed by sensation, trying to process too much at once, and John could picture it easily. All his nerve endings firing on full, all trying to scrabble for attention and shove information on him at the same time, too many in number for Sherlock to be able to keep track of.

He just needed to wait a moment, keep everything still until Sherlock could let things settle in his head. So he froze, kept his body pliant and soft, kept his hands gentle and his breathing steady. But he stopped moving. Let his hand simply rest under Sherlock's, kept his other steady between his legs, finger still half buried in the hot grip of Sherlock's body.

“Just give it a moment, darling,” he whispered. “You're alright. You're alright.”

It was less than a minute later when Sherlock visibly began to relax, his sluggish brain catching up to what his body was telling him, and then he was tentatively sinking back down on John's finger.

“Good lad,” John praised gently.

He supposed, given Sherlock's reaction, that he should avoid his prostate this time around. Poor man's head might explode.

The muscles squeezing his finger had loosened just a touch, and John slowly, carefully, started pumping in and out, keeping his free hand in Sherlock and drinking in all the little keens and gasps, the shudders and twitches.

Sherlock's cock was leaking precum, the head of it angry and red, and after a few minutes of John working his finger in and out of his tight hole, Sherlock's hips started twitching back to meet the push of his hand and the sight of it caused a swell of possessiveness to surge through John's chest.

His thoughts drifted to what it might be like to see Sherlock pushing back to meet the thrust of his cock.

Said neglected cock twitched in his pants and John groaned, shifting his hips.

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, his gaze completely dazed and his face slack, mouth open and panting. But he brought both hands to John's trousers and managed to work the button and zipper open and John breathed a sigh of relief when it immediately relieved the pressure.  His cock throbbed between his legs but he ignored it as best he could, for now. Carefully, he pulled his finger from Sherlock's hole but lingered there to feel the muscle clench around his sudden absence.

“D-don't stop, why are you stopping?” Sherlock stuttered, his hips twitching back to meet a phantom touch.

“You think you're ready for two?” John asked, but Sherlock was nodding before he even finished and he grinned, grabbing the lube and slicking up his middle and index fingers again just to be safe. “You're going to feel the stretch even more this time, ok? Just remember to relax.”

Sherlock nodded, his hand tightening around John's again as John reached between his legs once more. He settled the tips of both fingers at Sherlock's hole, rubbing around the slick opening to spread more lube around before applying steady pressure.

Sherlock's body gave way to him with considerably more reluctance than it had one finger and the man gasped tightly, though he made no move to pull away.

“It's alright,” John reminded him. “Bear down for me a bit...” Sherlock did and John's fingers sunk deep into him, pushing a trembling breath from the detective's chest, “There's a good lad.”

After that, John had to clamp his teeth down on his lip to keep from cursing, feeling Sherlock's tight walls shifting around his fingers with every breath the man took and a sudden image of pressing that thin body into the mattress and fucking into him made his cock throb as if it intended to go off any second – whether it had good reason to or not.

“ _John..._ ” Sherlock whimpered his name, pressing his weight down onto John's hand when John remained frozen in an attempt to maintain his control.

“Sorry...bloody hell, Sherlock,” John groaned, pulling his fingers out just a couple inches and pushing back in. “You're so fucking  _tight_ ...” he panted, his own hips rocking up into nothing, imagining it was his cock that Sherlock was pulsing around.

Sherlock's forehead fell to rest against John's, his breath hot and fast.

“John...John...feels s-so –  _ah_ – good...”

John shoved his fingers deeper, feeling Sherlock's muscles twitch and shudder around them. He looked down, almost managing to wrangle his slack jaw into a grin. Sherlock's cock was still leaking precum, beads of it sliding down the hard shaft.

“You're almost there, aren't you?” he taunted, feeling Sherlock squeeze around him again. He pumped his fingers in and out. All the way out, then all the way in, resisting the urge to grind his fingertips over Sherlock's prostate, see if he could make him  _scream_ . But this was already a big enough step for the detective and he didn't want to push too hard. “You're going to come without me even touching your cock, aren't you?”

Sherlock growled through his teeth, rolling his hips back, his movements becoming sharper and sharper until they started to stutter and he locked up, reaching up to brace his hands against the wall, pushing back hard on last time and freezing with John's fingers buried deep inside him.

“That's it, love, come on...” John encouraged, staring up at him, pressing up into Sherlock as hard as Sherlock was pushing back.

Sherlock's hips twitched again and then he was coming, a groan erupting from deep in his chest and spilling past his lips, his insides clamping down on John's fingers like a vice. And John looked down in time to see his cock splashing cum over his shirt, heard Sherlock's nails scraping against the wall, heard the whimper chasing that groan, and pushed his free hand up Sherlock's side in a soothing touch.

Gradually, the pressure around his fingers lessened as the endorphins flooded Sherlock's system and he eased them out, lingered there again to feel where the muscle didn't quite close right away.

“Good?” he asked, the ache between his legs growing more desperate, bordering on painful.

Sherlock made a breathy, incoherent noise, taking the weight off his legs at last and settling down in John's lap again.

This time John  _did_ groan, his teeth baring in a snarl when Sherlock managed to settle his arse right over his cock. He grabbed at Sherlock's hips with both hands, digging his fingers into the muscle there, nails probably biting at the skin.

“ _Christ_ , Sherlock...”

How could he possibly get so aroused just from getting Sherlock worked up? How could he be this hard just from watching Sherlock rocking on his fingers? His cock pulsed with the mere memory of that lithe body squirming on his fingers and he was so occupied with not spilling his load like a teenager that he barely noticed when Sherlock shifted back and started pulling his jeans and underwear down.

“What're you...?” John asked dazedly. Now that the distraction of watching and touching Sherlock was gone, every single shred of his attention couldn't seem to get much farther than his crotch.

Luckily, Sherlock seemed to have regained his senses, at least a little – his eyes were still pretty unfocused and his hands were shaking when he grabbed the lube and slicked up John's cock.

Even the touch of Sherlock's warm, wet hand – never mind that it wasn't even a remotely tight grip – made John buck up, seeking a firmer touch. He didn't know what Sherlock was planning but he didn't care so long as he did it  _quickly_ .

And then Sherlock was shuffling up again, and carefully settled down so that John's over-sensitive cock was trapped between Sherlock's arse cheeks and his own stomach, the head nudging up against Sherlock's perineum.

“Oh, you genius, you,” John praised breathlessly, pulling at Sherlock's hips when he started rolling them. “Fucking brilliant, yes, harder – perfect, just like th –  _ah_ – that...” he kept babbling, the heat and friction on his cock that every roll of Sherlock's slim hips brought was already drawing his balls up tight and he pushed down on Sherlock's hips, forcing him to grind against him harder.

“Fuck –  _fuck!_ ”

Sherlock's slender hands pressed down on his chest for leverage, rocking harder, panting with the effort of making sure John felt good and it had John pitching right over the edge, coming hard with a shout, a breath and a snarl, his fingers digging in to Sherlock, holding him still as he rutted up against the slick heat, the head of his cock nudging just behind Sherlock's balls and coating them with cum.

John eyes rolled in his head as the last few involuntary jerks of his hips subsided and he practically melted against the mattress and Sherlock swayed in his lap before catching himself.

It took him a few seconds to clear the fog from his head and when he opened his eyes again, Sherlock's were just opening as well.

“Alright?” he asked, reaching up with an arm made of lead to push a few damp curls out of Sherlock's eyes, then dropped his hand to rub up and down his slender arm.

Sherlock nodded,  _still_ looking a bit out of it. “That was...intense.”

“Good?”

“ _Incredible_ .”

A dopey smile stretched across John's face. He ran his other hand up over Sherlock's ribs, just visible under his skin, then abruptly gave his flank a light smack.

“Right,” he said briskly, “Let's clean up and then we'll go to Angelo's, don't think I've forgotten.”

Sherlock huffed, climbing off John's lap and grimacing at the stickiness between his legs. John watched, grin widening, when Sherlock had to try twice to get on his feet and then left the room, walking with all the grace of a newborn colt.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, was this any good? New parts for this series always just hit me out of nowhere and I have to rush to get it all out before the interest leaves me. Let me know if it turned out alright or if you just simply enjoyed it :D


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